Love Like A Drug
by honey i'm holmes
Summary: Sherlock tries to find a way to tell John how he really feels. Written for phoenixfoxfire's prompt: "Oh goodness, not exciting or anything, but I'd really love a new story about Sherlock telling John he loves him. I'd love a nervous Sherlock, because I think it's adorable."


"Bored!" The dark haired genius called out to his flat mate from his position, sprawled across the couch.

"Sherlock, you quite literally have not been home for more than five minutes. The tea hasn't even come to a boil." John had started a kettle as soon as the duo had gotten back from their latest solved case. It hadn't been particularly challenging – Sherlock managed to deduce the suspect's exact place of work based on one left receipt – but John had still hoped the thrill would be enough to tide over his friend for a bit more time than mere minutes.

Sherlock huffed in response and turned on his other side. "Don't answer that," he distractedly remarked.

John was about to ask for clarification when he heard his phone ring. UNKNOWN was calling him. John tried to assess how in the world Sherlock knew his phone would ring coupled with why the oldest Holmes brother might be calling him. Disobeying Sherlock, John headed to his bedroom before answering, knowing that if Mycroft was calling _him_, he would want some amount of privacy from his younger brother.

"Yes?"

"Already abandoning formal greetings? My my, we had better get you out of that flat before you two start taking your coffee the same."

John frowned uncomfortably at Mycroft's icy words, remembering a time that he had tried a sugar or two in his drink.

" Yes, well-"

"Listen, John, I'm calling because I believe you'll be having a danger night rather soon. I don't mean to worry you, but my little brother has been… distant lately. He's been ignoring all my calls."

"Isn't that usual though?"

"John, I can't expect you to understand something like this, but I do expect you to trust what I say. Have you searched the flat recently?"

"No, but I really don't think he's–"

"You'll need to do that tonight then. I'm counting on you, John."

John didn't have time to stammer out a reply before the line went dead. He left the bedroom and went to finish the tea, unsure of what to say to Sherlock about the phone call. The taller man had moved from his spot on the couch to a more ominous pose near the window. Sherlock was gazing at the bleak outside, but John could tell he was not fixated on anything in particular. John remembered Mycroft's warning.

_But this time is different,_ he thought as he poured two cups. _He's not interested in destroying himself this time, he's not looking for a quick preoccupation. But he isn't just bored. There's something else…_

John's thoughts were interrupted as Sherlock spoke, not moving his eyes from some unseen thing beyond the window.

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to know how we… er… you were coming on that case he brought to us a few days ago." John thought he had seen the faintest speck of a smirk play across Sherlock's lips when he had corrected himself.

"I solved it yesterday, but I think I prefer to leave him in the dark a bit longer."

John's lie had worked. _It really is more of a half-truth,_ he reasoned with himself.

"Right, of course," he muttered absentmindedly, sitting on the couch, setting Sherlock's tea on the table and taking his own first sip.

Sherlock noticed his beverage and moved to sit beside John on the couch, elegantly lifting his tea to his lips in one fluid motion.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. This was usually John's favorite part. The afterglow of post-case bliss. Usually Sherlock would be energized and still radiating a certain delight that John could almost feel as a physical heat. There would be a specific comfort between them then, a happiness that made up for all the times John had walked in on his jumpers drenched in jam or found fingers in his sandwiches. It was a quiet contentment that expressed the shared knowledge that they both needed each other.

This time was different though, and with John's expectations set, even the warmth of the tea couldn't help him from feeling cold and anxious.

"John, there is something I need to ask you."

_This can't be good,_ John thought.

"Well, I suppose it is less of a question, and more of a statement of sorts. Well... it's… it's something I must say."

John noticed that Sherlock suddenly became a bit nervous. He could hear the slightest quivering in Sherlock's usually steady voice and noticed his hands fidgeting around his teacup. _This is quite different_, John thought. He was actually a bit unnerved to see his friend in such an unfamiliar state. _At least he's going to tell me what's bothering him._

"I… I… you see, I think… I know…" Sherlock puffed out in a pout, frustrated with his stammer.

John started to pick up on a new feeling from Sherlock, almost vulnerability. John wasn't sure if it was just part of his military background, but the overwhelming desire to protect Sherlock overcame him.

"Sherlock, you know you can always tell me anything." It sounded sappy and almost seemed condescending to say to the genius, but John knew Sherlock's emotional IQ was in need of some encouragement. He gingerly placed a hand on Sherlock's knee for comfort. "We're best mates, yeah?"

Sherlock seemed to retreat further into the couch as a slight red glow settled unto the surface of his cheeks. An unexpected reaction. Sherlock parted his lips and nervously flicked his tongue across to moisten them.

"I… I think this tea may have gone stale. Please get another kind soon." With that, Sherlock leapt off the couch and retreated to his bedroom, leaving John to his own doubts and concerns.

* * *

John knew that there had to be more than the problem of the tea. _Still, I'm not about to take a chance,_ John thought, moving Sherlock's microscope to set down a Tesco bag of 17 different teas on the kitchen table.

After Sherlock had stormed off to his room, John had remembered Mycroft's warnings of a danger night. He tried listening in a bit to make sure nothing would happen, but a complicated violin piece began as soon as John stood up. John felt like he needed to get out of the flat for a bit, so he had donned his coat again and went for a walk. His path on the way home took him past the grocery store, which was when John decided to cover all his bases.

John was frustrated that he was unable to help Sherlock. He regretted being nowhere near the intellectual level of his friend; deducing things would be so much easier than waiting for them to come out on their own.

John returned to the flat not an hour later to find the violin had stopped. After emptying the contents of the bag onto the table and pacing for a minute, John decided to check on Sherlock.

There was no response to John's light knock. He doctor started to become worried and slightly opened the door, fearing the worst. John peered into the room, but was almost unable to make out anything. There was still a bit of light to the sky as John was on his way home, but Sherlock had pulled the curtains tight. The only light reaching the room was the dingy glimmering from the kitchen that spilled in softly from behind John.

"Sherlock?" John pushed into the room a little more. As more light eased its way in, John could just see the tall, thin form, curled on its side on the bed. John knew he wasn't asleep – Sherlock never slept – but it was quite possible that he hadn't even noticed John come in at all. John decided to take a risk in sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Sherlock, please tell me you are alright." John extended another comfort hand that found its way to Sherlock's wrist. As John's eyes adjusted more to the limited lighting, he saw a head of curls turn as an angular, porcelain face appeared.

"I am alright," Sherlock said, evenly, composed, controlled. Too controlled. It was too dark for John to see properly, but he knew that Sherlock's eyes would have betrayed him. John again felt a surge of protection for the man in front of him. Sherlock, the genius, the sociopath, the man that never lets anyone get to him. His best friend. John had never seen him in such a state, and he felt powerless to stop the effects of Sherlock's self-destruction.

John tried again to be supportive and comforting. His hand found the top of Sherlock's. "You know I'm here for you, no matter what. I know you really don't care to hear things like this, but I think it's important you know. We've been through quite a bit together, and you… you've become the most important person in my life. Nothing would ever make me think less of you. You're the best man I've ever known."

John wasn't sure if he should say anything more. He felt Sherlock's hand tense underneath him, gripping at the sheets.

"Dimmit, John," he finally sputtered out. "I – I… I suppose I should just tell you."

Sherlock sat up in bed and adjusted himself to curl around a pillow. John swallowed nervously. Sherlock sharply inhaled and looked to the ceiling before facing John head on. It was still difficult for John to see all of Sherlock's facial features, but John could feel Sherlock's gaze on him. Before missing a beat, Sherlock began to slowly speak to John.

"Volim te. Ich liebe dich. S'agapo. Aishiteru. Te amo. Ik hou van jou. Je t'aime…."

This time it was Sherlock's hand that found John's.

"I… I love you."

John could feel Sherlock's heartbeat quicken through his palm.

"…Do you mean more than–"

"Yes."

"...Sherlock, I–"

"Please don't talk, John. I must say this before you leave. I always believed that I didn't need anyone else. I thought I would be content to be alone for the rest of my days, my only friends being skulls and cadavers. But then I met you, John. Initially you were just another person to deal with, but I've… I've seemed to lose track of what was originally important to me while simultaneously finding more purpose in my life than I've ever known. And that's all because of you. You're changing me, like a drug through my veins. And like a drug, I've become addicted. Everything about you becomes toxic to me, from the way you consume jam in such quantities to the insufferable way you type. I've realized that I cannot live anymore, quietly burning for you as you just go through the day. I tried to tell you earlier today, but it wasn't right. I was so nervous. I couldn't form the words. So I learned other words. As soon as I heard you come back to the flat, I quickly searched and learned how to say it in about 48 different languages. I couldn't decide which one sounded the most beautiful."

Sherlock let his head fall and his body concave as he pulled his hand away from John's.

"Please don't be mad, John. I understand if you want to leave. Leave me, leave Baker Street, leave everything. But I had to tell you. I love you."

John sighed slowly. "Sherlock, sometimes you can be so stupid. You see and you observe, but do you really _know_?" John spoke tenderly as he moved to lift Sherlock's face. His fingers met Sherlock's damp cheek. John leaned in. "Of course I love you too."

John closed the distance between them. Their lips met briefly, followed by their noses. John tilted his head to press a longer kiss on Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock began to respond, putting both his hands on John's face to pull the man in closer to him. John felt tiny electric signals going off all over his body as warmth spread all over. He finally pulled away for air, pressing his forehead to Sherlock's and catching his breath through a smile.

Sherlock slid his hands to wrap around John's neck. "I had no idea"

"First the solar system, now this?"

Sherlock laughed, deeply and happily. To John, it was one of the best sounds in the world. John joined in, relaxing in Sherlock's arms. "Well now you know. I do love you. I'm sorry, I only know it in one language"

"There are many different ways to say it. I may know 48 ways, but I actually prefer your way."

"English?"

Sherlock smiled and pulled John closer to him again.

"John, don't be silly. You don't even have to say it, I just realized you bought me 17 different types of tea."


End file.
